


Cauldron Cakes and Canary Creams

by ohmybgosh



Series: Prolonging the Magic [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: an abundance of pudding, this is pretty much a crack au but I love it so much, this was edited with only a few hours of sleep so sorry for any mistakes!!, yes I'm shipping Barb & Kali and also Cal & Powl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmybgosh/pseuds/ohmybgosh
Summary: Steve tries to win Billy over with sweets, Billy is a knobhead, Nancy and Jonathan try to help out a friend, and the rest of them are just in it for the free pudding.





	Cauldron Cakes and Canary Creams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PenelopeTweed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeTweed/gifts).



> For Moose, my muse! You know how much I appreciate you <3
> 
> This is purely an indulgence into my brain that's filled with random facts. And a hodgepodge of the brilliant stuff Moose sends my way. 
> 
> You can probably tell from the unfinished plots, but there will be more of this! I have another three parts planned! 
> 
> ALSO for everyone's sake: Billy, Max, Lucas, and Jonathan are in Gryffindor. Nancy, Barb, and Mike are in Ravenclaw. Steve, Dustin, and Will are in Hufflepuff. El and Kali are in Slytherin. AND for my own sanity I decided to forgo age differences and lump Steve, Billy, Nancy, Jonathan, Barb, and Kali into seventh year. All the kids are fourth years!
> 
> When I first read the series, for some reason I can't remember I misunderstood and thought Aberforth had made a cannibalistic goat. So somewhere along the way Abe and Joyce knew each other, and the Byers' poor dog suffered. But Hopper hated that dog, so he and Abe are on good terms. 
> 
> If you've read this far, thank you :) As always, head over to my tumblr if you wanna yell at me!

The worst thing about Steve Harrington, Billy thought, was how he seemed to be invited to every single shindig, no matter how small. He was acquainted with half the castle, and if he wasn’t friends with someone he was friends with their friend. He was easily one of the most popular students. Nancy said he didn’t want to be; she said he acted outgoing, but alone or with a select few people his over-anxiousness showed and beneath his golden boy smile he looked rather tired.

So Billy wasn’t surprised when Steve was in the Gryffindor common room after the Gryffindor’s defeat of Slytherin during the match that day. Nancy was there too; people tended to invite their significant others to common room parties.

He glared around at the guests - who brought Steve here? Was it Isabella Culpepper, who hung on his arm, laughing like a hyena at everything he said? Or Alexander Brown, who clapped Steve on the shoulder, congratulating him on sneaking fire whiskey from home, and whose hand slipped down to settle at the small of Steve’s back, fingers tightening on Steve’s shirt.

Billy clenched his teeth. He took the little glass of fire whiskey when Nancy offered it, tossing it down the back of his throat and barely blinking at the burn.

“Can’t keep his hands off him, can he?” she remarked, nodding at Brown.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Tch,” Nancy clucked her tongue. “Of course you don’t. Just like you haven’t been staring at him all night.”

“I haven’t been staring.” Billy bristled.

“Ok, glaring,” Nancy amended.

“Where’s Barb?” Billy pretended to look for her.

“Comforting her girlfriend,” Nancy said, waving her hand in the direction of the dungeons. “Don’t change the subject. We’re talking about you and Steve.”

“Is he still pining?” Jonathan appeared at Nancy’s side, brushing his sandy-colored hair out of his eyes, a bottle of half drunk mead in his hand.

Billy growled and Nancy grinned at him.

“Still pining.” She took the bottle from Jonathan, sniffing the contents. “Where’d you get this?”

“Steve.”

Billy threw up his hands and stalked off, pushing a second year that’d snuck down the stairs out of the way. He made for his dormitory. It had started as a good night in the wake of their win but his happiness was quickly drying up, all thanks to a handsome Hufflepuff who had the uncanny ability to always be the life of the party.

It wasn’t really Steve being here. Truthfully, it was Steve being here but not with Billy. It was Steve, always surrounded by a flock of admirers, Steve who had no time for Billy. Which, Billy reminded himself, he hadn’t actually attempted to interact with Steve. And Steve did stare at him a lot, ever since the incident in the library nearly a week ago. But Billy wasn’t sure what that was about. So he pretended not to notice.

He snatched an opened, still smoking, bottle of fire whiskey someone had left on a windowsill and started up his dormitory steps.

“Hey!”

He spun around and there was Steve, jogging to catch up with him and shaking off Brown at the bottom of the stairs.

Steve caught up to him in the middle of the stairway. “You leaving?”

“Yeah. Tired.” Billy looked away.

Steve glanced at the fire whiskey in his hands. He bit his lip. “Oh. I was hoping to talk to you.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “What about?”

“Well, you know, the thing.”

Billy, who knew exactly what the Thing was, who had thought about the Thing with increasing obsession over the last few days, gave Steve his best confused look. “What thing are you referring to?”

“You know,” Steve whispered, stepping closer so that they were inches apart. Billy could smell Steve’s cologne again, and something else, something flowery, maybe shampoo? “The _thing_.”

Billy intended to lean away, he did, but he swayed - he blamed on the fire whiskey, or perhaps someone had spiked the open bottle with a love potion - and ended up leaning closer to Steve, so that their noses were almost brushing.

Steve blinked in surprise. Billy got frustrated, because Steve’s eyes were so warm and brown, and that wasn’t fair at all. Steve’s lips parted, and he breathed out a tiny little _oh_ that sent a shiver from the crown of Billy’s head, down his back and stumbling over each vertebrae to the very tips of his toenails.

He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and felt Steve lean away. With his absence it was like the temperature dropped several degrees.

He opened his eyes, heart hammering, had he done something wrong? But Steve’s fingers closed around his wrist and tugged gently as a trio of sixth years brushed by them on their way upstairs.

“Wanna get some air?” Steve said, his voice sounding a little squeaky.

Billy let Steve pull him through the common room. He searched for Nancy in the crowd, to try and convey some of his feelings to her with a waggle of his eyebrows, but she was busy in a game of Exploding Snap with a group of friends, Jonathan’s bottle of mead in her hands now and Jonathan leaning against the wall beside her, catching Billy’s eye and giving him the thumbs up.

Billy smirked. Nancy was a riot at parties - she was a lightweight, and sometimes thought she was tougher than she was, and started fights with stupid people. Jonathan, Barb, and he had Nancy Duty, which just meant don’t get blackout drunk and be ready to drag her out of a brawl. Billy and Barb could both lift Nancy bodily from whatever trouble she got into and carry her to safety. Jonathan, though he’d uncharacteristically punch a guy for Nancy’s sake, couldn’t carry anything heavier than a houself and therefore was the one to sound the gentle and silent alarm to Billy or Barb, which was just a small tap on the shoulder and a nod in Nancy’s direction.

Steve led him out of the Gryffindor common room, the portrait swinging closed behind them, the Fat Lady yawning in irritation, and down from the tower, several floors, passed the Charms classroom and stopping outside a large wooden door Billy had never noticed before.

Steve stepped up to the door and grasped the handle. He glanced back at Billy and actually _winked_. Billy felt dizzy all of a sudden, taking a swig of the fire whiskey he still held and hoping that would drown out the incessant fluttering in his stomach.

“Fiddly digits,” Steve murmured.

“Excuse me?” Billy coughed.

The wooden door swung open at Steve’s voice. Billy thought it would be magical, a big reveal of some grandiose room. But it was dark, he could only see a few feet ahead of a tiled floor, and just barely hear a tiny trickling from inside.

Steve, however, looked elated, smiling so wide that the corners of his eyes crinkled. Billy thought that was unfair, he wasn’t sure how many butterflies his stomach could withstand.

Steve held one arm out. “After you.”

Billy eyed him suspiciously and took a cautious step closer, peering into the dark room. He could make out a wide window, but the moonlight didn’t quite shine through; it was a cloudy night and the moon was only a first quarter, not particularly bright. A teeny hint of moonlight could be seen, just barely shining through what looked to be stained glass and hinting at the glint of some wide and reflective surface on the floor.

“What is this?” Billy asked warily.

“A bathroom.”

“Right. Um. So, what, exactly are we doing here?”

“We could, I dunno, take a bath.” Steve leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest and raising a brow, one lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. It was dark, but Billy had good eyes, and he could see, almost feel, the heated look in Steve’s gaze.

His whole body felt tingly. This was the Steve Smolder Nancy told him about.

Billy swallowed, finding his voice. “Is that a euphemism for something?”

“If you want it to be,” Steve said quietly. He looked down, more thick hair falling in his eyes, and when he looked up he still had that sexy face, but his cheeks were pink and a part of him looked...anxious, if that was possible.

Reminding himself he was a brave Gryffindor, and even the prettiest boy in school couldn’t knock him off his feet, Billy crossed the threshold into the dimly lit bathroom, deciding that a bath, no matter how nerve-wracking, was really what he wanted most at the moment.

As soon as his tennies hit the tiled floor light burst out from the center of the vast room; thousands of tiny twinkling beads of golden light buzzed up to the ceiling, flitting about fifteen feet above his head, like tiny stars. He was impressed by the spell; it was a powerful, old conjuring spell that seemed to trigger when a body entered the room.

The bathroom was more like a bathhouse, and the architecture, contrary to the hodgepodge of medieval and gothic architecture of the rest of the castle, was positively Romantic, though it looked as though the architect had taken their own personal design liberties, shirking most traditional bathhouse layout. It was like a large atrium, the whole room was open, with a domed ceiling, some toilet stalls along the walls, and several large, glass stained windows on the wall opposite the door, depicting a scene of Grindylows battling a merman. But the pool in the middle was what drew Billy’s gaze; it was gigantic, like an Olympic swimming pool, with a huge set of taps in the middle.

“Now I see why Nance liked being a Prefect,” Billy murmured.

He heard the door creak shut behind him and glanced over his shoulder. Steve stood there, hands in his pants pockets, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His yellow and black tie was askew, hanging loose, first few buttons on his shirt undone.

“So,” he began.

 _Brave Gryffindor_ , Billy reminded himself, and he surged forward, grabbing hold of Steve’s tie and pulling him forward to crash their lips together.

Steve was on him immediately. He slid his hands down Billy’s sides, hooking his fingers into Billy’s belt loops and pulling their hips together.

Billy was hard, painfully so, had been since Steve gave him the Smolder, and he would’ve been embarrassed about it, but he had no time for that, since Steve had his tongue in Billy’s mouth, had his arms around his neck, and was just as excited as Billy, if not moreso.

Billy had to break it off first; he felt lightheaded.

When he drew back to catch his breath Steve snatched the now barely smoldering fire whiskey from his hands and took a swig. He set it on the ground and turned away, tugging off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed these to the side, crisp white undershirt still on and tucked into his pants. He knelt down to untie his shoes next, slipped those off along with his socks, and stood, unzipping his pants and shaking those off, too.

He stood for a moment, facing the pool. Billy wished he’d turn around. He wanted to strip away Steve’s undershirt and briefs and pull Steve against him, feel and taste every inch of his skin, make him flush pink and listen to his heart hammer in his chest. But he felt rooted to the spot. This was the most nude he’d seen Steve, or the closest he’d been (he sometimes spotted Steve swimming at the lake, but he was always too far away, only able to make out that trademark mop of dark brown hair and a tank and swim shorts). But even now Billy could see all the freckles, not just the ones on the back of Steve’s neck that haunted Billy, who sat behind Steve in Defense and nearly drooled on his notes everytime Steve swept his hair aside or scratched his neck. But Billy’s imagination had not been imaginative enough; there were so many more, scattered across his calves and dusting over his forearms. A teeny one even called Steve’s left elbow home.

Steve, as if feeling Billy’s gaze, glanced over his shoulder. Billy blushed and ducked his head, pretending to be interested in a scuff mark on his shoe. Steve made a small sound of amusement, though, that told Billy he’d been caught.

“What kind of soap do you like?” Steve asked.

“Soap?” Billy’s voice came out squeaky and he coughed, as if to clear out a frog.

“Yeah. You know, bubbly, fizzy, flowery?” Steve waved his hand in the direction of the cluster of taps. Billy hadn’t noticed before, but each shiny brassy tap had a gem on the handle, different colors glittering in the moonlight.

“Um.”

“The lavender is nice.”

“Good. Sounds good.”

Steve nodded and stepped into the water, climbing down the ladder and sinking under gracefully, like a goose. Or, something handsome, like a swan or a mallard or a great blue heron.

He swam under the surface, off in the direction of the taps. He looked so sleek and shiny under the water, like the merman in the window.

Billy shook his head, trying to clear it. He knew he was in deep when he got poetic.

Steve popped out of the water by the taps, shirt soaked and clinging to his shoulders. He reached for a tap with a purple gem and turned it on, backing up when a jet of lavender bubbles streamed out.

He swam back and stopped just in front of Billy, smoothing his dark hair back.

“You swim?”

“Sometimes.”

“Wanna come in?”

Billy hesitated for a second. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. It wasn’t as if he knew what he was doing. Well, he knew how to swim. But the other thing...

 _Bravery_ , he reminded himself, and pulled off his shoes, socks, and pants.

He padded up to the side of the pool and sat, wincing at the cold tile on his nearly bare ass, and dipped his feet in the warm, now light purple and fragrant water.

Steve stood when Billy’s knees hit the warm water. His undershirt clung to his chest, and soaked, Billy could see the dark hair that littered his chest, a few sparsely dusting his collar bones, hinting.

Billy swallowed. Steve had a full head of hair, and sometimes when he leaned over in class or the top button on his shirt came loose he got a tiny taste of what it’d look like.

He wondered what Steve looked like without an undershirt. And also why Steve kept it on.

He had a soft spot in his heart for fuzzy things, considering.

Steve put his hands on Billy’s knees, fingers inching up and over his thighs.

“Can I take these off?” he asked quietly.

“Sure,” Billy said, voice sounding off, what with his heart that was trying to climb up out of his ribcage and through his throat.

“Do you want this?” Steve asked, uncertain.

“Yes!” Billy said quickly, and then winced, because it sounded too ecstatic, and tried again.

“Yes,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Steve started to pull his hands away. “Because I don’t mind. I mean, I want this. But only if you do, too. We can go for a walk if you’d rather. Or I can walk you back to your dorm. Was this a bad idea?”

He looked nervous, and Billy was floored by that again.

He put his hands over Steve’s, which were still trying to scuttle away.

“I do want this,” he said, slowly, to sound more confident than he felt. “Really. I’m just not, um. I don’t do this. Often.”

“That’s ok.” Steve’s confidence seemed to return with Billy’s words.  

He checked once more, hands hesitating at the waistband of Billy’s briefs, meeting his eyes and biting his lip. Billy helped, wiggling back a bit, and Steve slipped his briefs off, tossing them off onto the tiled floor.

The air hit him, cold against his tender skin, and for a moment he wondered if he should slip into the warm, floral water, too, but then Steve touched him, and his thoughts stuttered to a stop.

His hand was warm and wet against Billy’s cock.

He sucked in a sharp breath when Steve’s thumb smoothed over the head, dipping into a bead of pre-come.

Billy felt light-headed and he grabbed the bottle of fire whiskey, downing the last dregs and welcoming the burn in his throat.

Steve moved his hands, sliding them over Billy’s thighs, and bent his head down.

He gripped Billy’s thighs, fingers digging in enough to bruise, and drew his tongue up the length of Billy’s cock, and lifted his gaze to Billy’s, brown eyes deep and dark and lidded.

Billy tipped his head back and bit his lip. He clenched his fists at his sides. He shut his eyes tight, willing himself not to come this early. Steve was barely touching him, just the slightest bit of pressure with the tip of his tongue, but Billy was already sweating bullets.

He’d never done this before. There was only that one time, with a muggle lass he met after sneaking into a pub a year ago when he was sixteen. She was ecstatic about it, and he wasn’t, but part of him wanted to get it over with, just to have it done, because virginity to him felt like a burden, and he’d done so much boasting about it in his fifth year that he felt he needed some real life experience. When he confessed all this to Jonathan, Jonathan nodded solemnly and said “I feel you”. When he confessed to Nancy she said “Jonathan told me” and then launched into a discussion with Barb, who was almost always at Nancy’s side if not with Kali or in the library, about the arbitrariness of virginity and how it was all a ploy to make girls feel like they needed to give their all to any man who gave them even a scrap of human decency. Billy agreed, and also felt bad about the tales he spread about his blushing conquests. By the end of the heated discussion Billy felt properly guilty, and he was certain the whole thing had been Nancy’s aggressively passive way of letting him know he’d been a giant dunderhead.

Steve was doing something godly with his tongue, which brought Billy back to earth and subsequently to the edge.

He checked his watch; Steve couldn’t be been down there for more than two minutes. Billy bit his lip. He was competitive and he was determined not to finish too fast.

One of Steve’s hands disappeared; there was a quiet splash and a soft, nearly silent, muffled moan followed that sent Billy’s heart haywire.

Steve’s came up for quick breath but returned even quicker, this time dipping his whole head down and taking Billy completely in his mouth, his thick brown hair flopping over his forehead and tickling Billy just below the navel. Not that he needed anymore fluttering in or around his stomach.

Steve lifted his head again, tongue doing that terrible thing, drew in a sharp breath through his nose, and dove down again, this time all the way down, burying his nose in the thick, darker, just as curly hair.

Billy lasted about as long as he thought he would, approximately seven minutes.

When he came he expected Steve to pull away, but Steve didn’t, in fact his fingers dig deep into Billy’s thighs and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, made a sound at the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” Billy panted. His heart still raced and he panicked for a second, thinking he probably should’ve warned Steve.

Steve lifted his head up and swallowed, a movement Billy tracked with his eyes, from Steve’s wet and red lips down the underside of his chin and along his Adam’s apple.

He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

He reached up and kissed Billy, gently, but enough that Billy could taste himself on Steve tongue, a strange and new, bitter, salty sensation that wasn’t bad. Just different.

Steve pulled back, leaving Billy blinking, befuddled.

“What for?”

Billy shook his head. “Nothing.”

Steve gave him another quick kiss, on the tip of his nose this time, and then, cheeks pink, his swam off, diving down into the water and coming up several seconds later on the other side of the pool.

Billy watched him dazedly. Steve reminded him of one of those models in a shampoo commercial, the ones that played between the programs on his father’s and Susan’s shitty television, coming out of the water so graceful and practically glistening.

He felt odd, deep under the elation, and worried about if he should’ve returned the favor. But Steve didn’t seem to mind.

They stayed like that for a while, Billy with his legs in the warm water, briefs back on, and Steve swimming laps around the pool, diving down and coming up minutes later, head popping up in front of Billy’s feet, long hair plastered to his neck, and grinning from ear to ear.

When their fingers and toes started to get pruny they decided to leave. Steve cast a drying spell on the both of them. Billy was impressed. Steve liked to swim, he spent a lot of time by the lake in the late spring, sometimes with friends but often alone. He’d probably practiced that spell often.

Dry and clothed, they left, Billy vanishing the empty fire whiskey bottle.

When the thick wooden door swung shut behind them Steve slid his fingers down Billy’s arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake, and took his hand, only smiling when Billy looked at him curiously.

Feeling elated, Billy decided to be chivalrous and walk Steve back to his dorm, so they headed down towards the dungeons. Billy thought he’d have trouble striking up a conversation with Steve, but the fire whiskey still sung in Billy’s blood. And Steve was actually quite easy to talk to.

“I’m going to fail Transfiguration,” Steve was saying as they neared a corridor that forked two ways. The left led towards the Hufflepuff dormitory and the kitchens. The right went to the Slytherin dormitory.

“You won’t,” Billy said, sure. “You’re smart, you know all the stuff, you just need to study a bit. And someone to teach you one on one.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve said quickly. “I can find another tutor, if it’s weird for you.”

Billy opened his mouth to respond, but stopped, when two voices floated down the corridor from the right side, drawing near.

“Right, but when your talking about the practical application, _Expelliarmus_ is - Billy?”

Billy jumped, and so did Steve - he didn’t miss the way Steve scooted away from him, dropping his hand so forcefully like it was a flesh-eating slug.

“Barb?”

Barb and her girlfriend stepped out of the shadows, holding hands, Barb squinting through her thick round glasses.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Just-”

“Walking,” Steve said. Billy frowned.

“Good flying today,” Steve commented after an awkward pause.

“Thanks,” Kali said flatly, examining her nails.

“Well-” Barb said.

“See you,” Billy waved, jogged around them and heard Steve fall into place beside him. Barb and Kali’s whispers carried down the corridor but Billy ignored them. Barb could talk all she wanted, he knew she’d only gossip to Kali, Nancy, and Jonathan. And he was going to tell Nancy and Jonathan anyway, because they’d probably be able to read his face over breakfast. And Kali couldn’t care less about Billy off the Quidditch pitch. So it didn’t matter to him.

He gave Steve a sideways glance as they walked in silence towards the Hufflepuff dormitory. Steve had his hands in his pockets; he hadn’t tried to hold Billy’s hand again.

A flush crept up Billy’s neck, spread over his shoulders and inched across his ears. It didn’t matter to Billy. But perhaps it mattered to Steve.

When they reached the stone archway with the tapestry of a badger, snoozing under brush, Steve turned to Billy. The light was low but Billy could see Steve’s eyes avoiding him.

He cleared his throat.

Steve looked up, took a step forward, almost looked as if he wanted to kiss Billy.

“Night, Harrington,” Billy grunted. He turned on his heel and left, ignoring that fact that there was no sound of the stone passageway opening, just the silence as Steve stood, watching him go.

 

“So,” Nancy said over breakfast the next morning, bypassing the Ravenclaw table in favor of sitting beside Jonathan, Barb trailing along behind her. “It’s really something, isn’t it?”

Jonathan choked on his orange juice and Barb gave a heavy, dramatic sigh.

Billy, having just stabbed a rather large and thick sausage with his fork, paused, sausage hovering in the air inches from his mouth. “What is?”

“Well, you did see it last night, didn’t you?” Nancy looked up from her toast, brow furrowing.

“See what?” Billy lowered the sausage back to his plate.

“Hm.” Nancy smiled. “I suppose you didn’t then.”

“See _what_?” Billy huffed. He was getting annoyed now.

Nancy just smirked at him. Jonathan was no help; he had his face in his hands, shoulder shaking with silent laughter, and the part of his forehead Billy could see was bright red.

Barb, however, sighed theatrically again and took a bite of her croissant, chasing it down with pumpkin juice. She swallowed and turned to Billy.

“She’s talking about Steve’s giant cock,” she said wearily. She picked up her napkin and patted the corner of her mouth, looking very much like she regretted her decision to join her friends today.

“His -” Billy sputtered.

“Cock, yes,” Barb said airily. She glanced up at the Slytherin table wistfully.

Nancy giggled at him now, while Jonathan emerged, beet red, wiping tears from his eyes. Barb rolled her eyes at the pair of them and took another bite of her pastry.

Billy scoffed at them, ignoring the heat that crept to his cheeks. He pushed his plate away, glaring at the sausage. He’d lost his appetite.

He excused himself shortly after, ignoring Nancy’s smile and Jonathan’s apologetic look, shouldering his bag and stalking out of the Great Hall. He felt a pair of deep brown eyes on him as he passed the Hufflepuff table but he turned his nose up and continued to stomp away, off in the direction of the library.

He sulked in the Herbology section, his dog-eared and heavily highlighted copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ spread out in front of him but barely touched.

He stewed over this new information. He tried and failed not to think about Steve’s briefs clinging to his thighs in the warm water, and the way Steve looked when Barb and Kali found them - as if he was embarrassed.

Billy thought about Steve and watched a Venus Lacewing Fly Trap in its pot on the window sill. The plant yawned, sleepy in the sunlight.

He didn’t leave the library until he checked his watch and realized he was late for Care of Magical Creatures.

 

Steve pined in the Great Hall at dinner that night.

Nancy crossed to the Gryffindor table to join Billy and Jonathan for a spot of pudding. Steve’s heart hurt a tiny bit. Not for Nancy, just for nostalgia's sake. He missed having breakfast with her, joining her at the Ravenclaw table to share a slice of pumpkin pie. He missed Billy, too, and that realization settled like a bezoar in his stomach, heavy and harsh. He missed the snide comments. He even missed being glowered at from two tables away. He missed Billy laughing, hair whipping behind him, facing off with Steve during Quidditch. He missed the way Billy said “Harrington”, teasing, snarky, long and drawn out. He missed Billy’s rare compliments, studying in the library or during Defense. He especially missed the blush that rose to Billy’s cheeks when Steve kissed him, the way Billy tried to hide it even though Steve already saw.

Everything was different after last night.

Billy didn’t look at him all day, unless it was when he darted by him in the corridor, glancing up once and then speeding away. Once or twice, during Defense and Potions, Steve thought he felt Billy’s eyes on the back of his neck. But when he turned to look at him, Billy was bent over his notes, blond curls falling in his face, or staring intently into his cauldron.

He didn’t make any snide comments. He did laugh cruelly when Steve got something wrong in Potions, though.

He didn’t call Steve “Harrington” anymore. He didn’t call him anything.

Nancy and Jonathan were laughing at something Billy said, Nancy covering her mouth with her hand. Billy smirked, scooping up a forkful of chocolate cherry tart.

Billy’s favorite time, Steve noticed, was when the dirty dinner dishes vanished and pudding appeared.

“Stop staring,” Dustin said cheerfully from Steve’s side. He popped a piece of peanut toffee fudge into his mouth. Will Byers, at his other side, plate pushed aside and a sketchbook out in front of him, looked up curiously.

Steve jumped, dropping his fork onto his mostly untouched pumpkin pie.

“I’m not,” he said quickly. He picked up his fork again, stabbing his pie but not taking a bite.

“Then what are you doing?” Lucas Sinclair asked, leaning around Will and Dustin to raise his eyebrows at Steve.

“I’m...observing.” Steve turned to Lucas. “Aren’t you supposed to be at your own table?”

“People from different houses change tables all the time,” Lucas said.

“Yeah, when they’re dating,” Steve snorted.

“Fine then!” Lucas huffed and jumped up, storming back to the Gryffindor table, sliding into place beside Billy’s sister Max.

“Steve!” Dustin whined. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get him to hang out with me? Ever since he started dating Max he won’t sit with me.”

Will patted his shoulder. “He’s just in the lovebird phase. Jonathan did that, and Mike’s still stuck.”

“Mike’s never going to stop being so lovesick.” Dustin sighed wearily and pulled Steve’s pie towards him. “Not that I’m complaining.” He took a bite of the pie. “Max is cool. But I miss just me and Lucas time, y’know?”

“Huh?” Steve blinked, tearing his eyes away from the Gryffindor table.

“Son of a bitch, Steve, are you even listening to me?” Dustin waved his hand in front of Steve’s face.

Will went back to his drawing, dipping his quill in a tiny bottle of blue ink.

Dustin’s pocket wiggled. Steve had a feeling D’Art was inside.

Steve grimaced at him. “Yeah, I’m sorry. For making Lucas leave.”

Dustin narrowed his eyes at him. “No you’re not.”

“I am! Really, Dustin, I’m sorry. Ok?”

Dustin slowly chewed another bite of pumpkin pie, still eyeing Steve suspiciously. “You owe me.”

“Go on then,” Steve sighed.

“Canary creams. From the kitchen.” He pointed his fork at Steve threateningly, a bit of pie wobbling precariously on the tines. “If they haven’t prepped any then I want treacle tart. Steve? Hello?”

The gears in Steve’s mind were churning. Billy loved sweet things. Perhaps the way to win him over was as simple as that.

He swatted Dustin’s hand away again. “Canary creams. Got it.”

 

“Sorry about earlier,” Jonathan said from his bed, eyes on his copy of _Harvey and the Hippogriff_ , something borrowed from his younger brother, who bounced up and down when Jonathan expressed interested in his favorite book.

“Forget it,” Billy grumbled from his wardrobe. He slipped on his pajama pants and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it in his washbin and grabbing his pajama top.

Jonathan lowered the book, looking guiltily at his lap. “No, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to tease you about -”

“Forget it,” Billy growled again. Alexander Brown, climbing into his own four-poster bed, looked suspiciously like he was eavesdropping.

“Ok,” Jonathan murmured.

Billy crammed his top over his head, grumpily buttoning it up halfway. He went to his bed and pulled back the curtains. He stopped.

“What the fuck?” he whispered. “Jonathan?”

“Hm?” Jonathan sat up from his bed, looking up from the book.

“Did you put this here?”

Jonathan hopped up, crossing the room to peer over Billy’s shoulder. “Put what where?”

They both stared at the pillow. Two chocolate cauldron cakes hovered just above the pillow case.

“Um. No.” Jonathan furrowed his brow. “Nancy?”

Billy shook his head. “She’d just give them to me.”

“Max?”

He snorted.

Jonathan shrugged. “Maybe a secret admirer.”

Billy barked out a laugh. “Ok, Byers.”

His heart gave a tiny thrill at that. What if Steve - he stomped that thought down before it could fully form. Steve wouldn’t. The night before, that was just drunk sex. And that day in the library, Steve was just lonely. Nancy said Steve told her he was lonely. Steve had a whole castle full of people he could send gifts to. Billy would be the last one on his list.

He knelt down, examining the cakes. He could just barely see, just barely taste the tiny trace of magic there. It didn’t look like a powerful spell. Probably a simple hovering charm. It would probably fade soon.

He reached out to take a cake.

Jonathan grabbed his wrist. “Wait! What if they’re hexed? Or there’s a love potion? Or poison?”

“Who’d want to poison me?”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing, because the amount of people who’d seriously consider poisoning him was actually quite large a number.

“Only one way to find out,” Billy said, and he plucked one of the cakes from the air.

He held it up to eye level and sniffed it. It smelled like it should, not too sweet, which usually signified a coverup of poison, and not that faint smoky smell that accompanied a strong spell or a nasty hex. Love potions were much harder to detect - the allure was how sneaky a good love potion could be. But Billy couldn’t think of a single person who’d use a love potion on him.

He took a bite, ignoring Jonathan’s wide eyes.

It tasted like a cauldron cake. It was odd they were chocolate; those were his favorites.

“How do you feel?” Jonathan whispered.

Billy swallowed. “Normal. How do I look?”

“Normal. Well, as you always do.”

Billy flipped him off.

“Well, Byers, judging by my sniff and taste tests, I’d say it’s safe to eat.” He grabbed the other one out of the air. “Want it?”

 

“So, hold on, let me get this straight.” Nancy had her hand on her hips when they met her outside the Ravenclaw common room the next morning. “You found unwrapped Cauldron Cakes floating above your pillow, you had no idea where they came from, or who sent them to you, and you _ate_ them?”

“Mhmm.”

“And you?” Nancy whirled on Jonathan. “You did too?”

Jonathan smiled sheepishly at her.

“Well if either of you wind up poisoned I’m not helping you.”

“Who’s getting poisoned?” Barb emerged from the entrance to the common room, wiping her glasses with the front of her robes and sticking them back on.

“Nobody,” Jonathan said quickly, at the same time Nancy said “These idiots.”

“Hey,” Billy said indignantly. “I did a sniff test! My nose has never failed me yet.”

Nancy gave him a reluctant smile.

“No, I suppose it hasn’t,” she sighed.

“And we’re fine.” He turned to Jonathan. “Aren’t we?”

“Right as rain,” Jonathan said.

“You have no idea who sent them?” Nancy asked as they made their way down to breakfast, falling into step beside Billy, behind Jonathan and Barb, who were talking about their last Muggle Studies test.

“No idea,” Billy shrugged. “Must’ve been a Gryffindor, to get into our dorm.”

“Not necessarily,” Nancy said thoughtfully.

“What d’you mean?”

“Well, no other students could come in the dorm, but the houselves can. Or a ghost, I suppose.”

“Ha,” Billy snorted. “You’re telling me Nearly Headless Nick has a crush?”

“No,” Nancy chuckled. “No, I mean someone could ask for help.”

Billy thought for a moment, trying and failing to fight down the butterflies that woke up in his stomach. They were starting to piss him off.

Nancy was right. Someone could ask for help. The houselves would be particularly excited to help.

He stamped that thought down before it could get too far.

Nancy, however, seemed to be following the same train of thought as Billy.

“Aren’t the kitchens close to the Hufflepuff dormitory?”

Billy frowned at her. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just saying. Steve can be romantic -”

“Nance.”

She sighed. “Alright. Sorry.”

 

 

“Just, don’t saying anything about clothing, ok? And be sure to compliment the food.”

Steve stopped outside of the large still life, an impressionist’s rendition of a fruit bowl. The painting itself was one of the most boring in the castle; the fruit never moved unless provoked, and the only life in the dried oil paint was an occasional tiny fruit fly, zooming lazily through the painting. Steve guessed it was dull on purpose, though. It hid, in his opinion, one of the most important rooms in the whole castle.

Dustin, at his elbow, eyed the still life curiously. D’Artagnan, the large horned toad, sat atop Dustin’s curly head. D’Art’s round eyes widened and darted from side to side when a fruit fly buzzed by an apple.

“Of course I’m going to compliment the food,” Dustin said. “I wonder what they’re planning for dinner tonight. You think they’d let me take some canary creams with me?”

“They’d love to,” Steve said, privately thinking that they’d try and shove pudding in Dustin’s pockets if he refused.

“Brilliant! I’ll grab some extra for El. She’s got the fucking worst sweet tooth.”

“Watch your language,” Steve said subconsciously. It was like a reflex now; all the time spent over break with Mrs. Henderson, her expletive ecstatic son, and her swear jar had rubbed off on him.

He reached out and gently tickled the large green pear. It shivered and then stilled, a door knob appearing at the edge of the canvas. He turned the knob and opened the door, stepping inside.

The kitchen was in a flurry, tiny houselves scurrying by with steaming plates of green beans, bubbling gravy, huge bowls of mashed potatoes. A group of ten lifted a giant roast out of the oven, their knees buckling under the weight and the roast wobbling dangerously on the platter.

Steve leapt forward and grabbed hold of a handle, helping the elves set the platter on a large table.

“Master Harrington,” an elf squeaked. He looked down and smiled at the big round eyes that just barely reached his knees.

“Hello, Hector.”

“We is so happy to see Master Steve again so soon!” Hector squeaked, and a chorus of “Oh yes, we is!” rose and passed through the crowd of elves flitting about the kitchen, juggling baskets of rolls and jugs of apple cider.

“Happy to be back so soon,” Steve said, and immediately regretted it, for Hector’s large eyes filled with tears and an elf carrying a tureen of gravy nearly dropped it when she cried, “Sir is too kind, so humble!”

Dustin rushed to her side, hurriedly taking the gravy and setting it safely in the middle of the table. He looked to Steve with alarm when the elf wailed, D’Art nearly falling from his head and into the gravy. The elf’s eyes spilled over with tears, and gripped his pant legs, crying, “And young Master! So noble!”

D’Art croaked grumpily and settled back down into Dustin’s hair.

“Listen, Hector,” Steve said quickly. “Could I ask you to do another favor?”

“Anything for sir!” Hector said happily, bouncing up and down on his tiny heels.

 

Outside of the kitchen, laden with canary creams, Steve, who had nothing else to do for the moment and needed to get his mind off things, followed Dustin to the library.

Hector had been more than happy to help Steve again, this time with his trademark strawberry lemon-frosted cupcakes (“Master Steve won’t be displeased! Hector promises! Hector is the finest baker of cupcakes, he is! Most Esteemed Master Dumbledore says so himself,” Hector said proudly, puffing up with chest while simultaneously blowing his nose on his pillow case, great tears falling from his owlish eyes and onto the stone floor).

Steve was nervous, though. He hadn’t seen Billy yet today, apart from afar at breakfast, and once in passing in a third floor corridor. But Billy hadn’t seen Steve, or perhaps he had, considering the way he stomped by, looking like he smelled something foul.

He wasn’t sure how the first gift had gone over. He thought a few times about asking Nancy or Jonathan. But then they would know it was him. And he wasn’t quite ready to reveal that. Nor was he sure he wanted to reveal it at all.

Dustin found El and Max when he reached the library, hurrying over to them. Madam Pince glared over the rim of her glasses as he passed. Steve gave her an apologetic smile, then hurried after Dustin when she turned her vulture-like gaze onto him.

“Look what I’ve got!” Dustin whispered excitedly. He pulled out a chair from their table and pulled the canary creams out of his robe pockets.

El’s eyes lit up. D’Art hopped off from Dustin’s head, landing on the table with a flop. His large tongue darted out and scooped up a canary cream. It disappeared into his mouth in a flash.

Max grimaced. “Does he have to sit on the table?”

“Hey now,” Dustin said defensively. “He’s got just as much a right to be here as you or I.”

“Right,” Max murmured, wrinkling her nose.

El picked up a pastry, tossing into her mouth almost as quick as D’Art did.

“Remember that time you expanded him in Potions?” she giggled.

Dustin groaned. “It wasn’t my fault! Lucas was supposed to be watching the cauldron but he got distracted.”

He gave Max a pointed look. She grimaced at him.

“Hey, Steve,” she said, when El and Dustin launched into an animated retelling of the gigantic D’Art fiasco.

She shifted aside her books, clearing a space for him.

He sat. She picked up a pastry, squinted at it, gave D’Art a suspicious look, and set it back down on the table.

“Um,” Steve said. “How’re classes?”

“Good,” Max shrugged.

“Quidditch?”

“Good.”

“Nice win.”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “How’s, um, how’s your brother?”

Max shrugged again. “Good.”

“Cool.”

“He thinks someone’s trying to poison him,” she said conversationally, picking up a strand of her long red hair, absentmindedly searching for split ends.

“Oh?” Steve felt his ears turning red. Max thankfully didn’t notice.

“Why does he think that?” he asked, then coughed to hide the sudden squeakiness, akin to Hector, in his voice.

“Someone left him chocolates or whatever on his bed.” Max snorted. “I told him if anyone was trying to poison him it’d be me.”

Some of the alarm Steve felt must’ve shown on his face, because Max laughed and waved a hand dismissively at him.

“I’d never really poison him. Once I spiked his drink with Mum’s hair growth potion when I was ten. _That_ was funny.”

 

For the next week gifts appeared on Billy’s bed. First it was the cupcakes, which were quite delicious, then there were pumpkin pasties, hazelnut eclairs, steaming cinnamon buns, and the like, until, finally, there was an entire chocolate raspberry tart floating above his pillow. It was far too much for he and Jonathan to tackle - Jonathan was starting to worry his pants wouldn’t fit - so Billy passed the tart off to Max, who looked skeptical and asked if he’d actually been poisoned yet. After several minutes of reassuring Max took it, saying Dustin and Lucas would eat it anyway.

Billy was befuddled by the whole situation. He’d scrapped the poisoning idea after the first gift and was now starting to wonder if Nancy was right, if it was a secret admirer.

The only question was who. Not Steve, certainly.

Maybe Abigail Boot, sixth grade Ravenclaw who made a point to dash up to him and wish him luck every morning of a Quidditch match.

Maybe Roman Harper, Slytherin seventh year who slept with Steve Harrington and gave everyone the stink eye, except for Billy, it was a mild look of distaste. And once, during Care of Magical Creatures, he actually complimented Billy’s brilliant capture of a runaway Bowtruckle.

Billy wasn’t intrigued by these people, though. The attention was nice. But Boot wasn’t his type. And Harper would lose interest if he knew anything at all about Billy. And Billy didn’t think he could deal with the big-headedness of someone who came from a family that thought so highly of themselves they named their sons “Roman” and (the younger, even more pompous) “Caesarion”.

Sometimes, when he was lying in bed, staring up at the top of his four poster and listening to the soft snores of his dorm mates, he wondered whether someone was having him on. Maybe it was some stupid joke.

Nancy still insisted he reconsider the Steve Theory.

“I’m just saying,” she said, arms wrapped around her wool coat, hat crammed over her head, shivering slightly in the wind as the two of them and Jonathan made their way down to Hogsmeade on a Saturday morning, the last morning of the week long conundrum and the morning of the chocolate tart. “Who’s the only person you’ve had a romantic thing with recently? Think about it. Who’s the person who showed interest?”

“Thanks, Nance,” Billy grumbled.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” They stopped outside the village, heads bent in the wind.

The Shrieking Shack could be seen in the distance, looking dark atop the snow covered hill, the old house almost rattling in the wind.

“Drinks?” Jonathan asked.

“Please.”

They filed into the Hog’s Head, since the Three Broomsticks overflowed with students, and because the bartender at the Hog’s Head would serve them actual alcohol if he was in a good enough mood. Only if Jonathan was there, though; apparently he’d known Jonathan’s mother years ago, and was still trying to make up to her, for something Jonathan didn’t know about, only that it involved his old pet dog he barely remembered and a particularly voracious goat.

They pushed the rickety front doors open and greeted the bartender with a nod and a short “Abe”.

He grimaced at them from under a scraggly gray beard, eyes bright blue under grubby half-moon glasses.

The pub, as usual, was relatively empty, apart for a haggard looking wizard in Ministry of Magic robes, seated at the bar. A pair of hags, and Billy wasn’t being cruel, they actually were hags, sat in a shadowy corner, drinking a suspicious dark red liquid, whispering in a foreign language. An old wizard sat alone in another corner, sporting a black eye and sipping a pint of beer. A large scrappy Wolfhound sat at his feet, panting happily, catching the bits of cold sausage the man fished out his pockets and tossed to him, the dog wagging his tail as the man sang to him softly in a thick Irish accent.

“I’ll grab drinks. Nance? What d’ya want?”

“Butterbeer’s fine.” She sat at a table, shrugging off her coat, and Jonathan followed suit.

“C’mon,” Billy scoffed. “No one here’ll judge you. I’m sure no one even knows you, besides Abe.”

Nancy sighed. “Fine. Something warm.”

“Got it.” He grinned at her and turned to Jonathan.

“Whatever you’re having,” Jonathan said quietly.

Billy walked over to the bar, leaning against it, drumming his fingers while Abe poured a beer into a dusty looking glass for the ministry wizard.

“Off duty, eh?”

“Technically?”

Abe chuckled and passed the beer over. “That’s the ticket.”

The wizard gave him a tired smile and took a long drink.

“What’ll be, then?” Abe grunted at Billy.

“A Hot Toddy and two Figgy Pops.”

Abe eyed Billy narrowly for a moment, then sighed and mumbled something under his breath that sounded something like “good karma”.

He fixed Nancy’s drink, cracked open two bottles and passed the lot over.

Billy fished around in his pockets, found some coins, and took the drinks carefully, tossing a “cheers, mate” over his shoulder as he headed back to their table.

Abe struck up a conversation with the ministry wizard again, but Billy only caught the beginning of it before he was out of earshot.

“How’s Joyce doin’?”

“How much?” Nancy asked when Billy sat down, handing their drinks over.

“Not much.” He waved her away when she tried to give him a handful of change. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Billy,” she started, looking concerned.

“Forget it.”

She frowned, but thankfully let the subject drop. She worried about Billy a lot, and deep down, though he’d never admit it to her, he was eternally grateful for it. But he didn’t like when she worried about him spending money. His families financial woes were his own embarrassing burden to bear.

“What’s this?” Jonathan murmured, squinting at the slightly purple liquid bubbling inside.

“Figgy Pop.” Billy took a swig. “S’good. Susan likes it; I swiped a few over Christmas Break. Made with essence of Shrivelfig and some people say it gives you that slight euphoria, but I don’t think it’s concentrated enough. Apparently it’s named after some American singer. Susan likes him.”

“And there’s alcohol in this?” Jonathan took a curious sip.

“Mhmm.”

Jonathan nodded and took another slow sip.

Nancy nursed her steaming cider, cheeks still pink from the cold.

“About our earlier conversation,” she began.

Billy groaned.

“Just hear me out.” Nancy held up her finger. “Steve’s a hopeless romantic. No, really! He was the first to say the “L” word, he got me flowers and singing cards, not for any special occasion. He stares at you, you said so yourself. He could easily get help from a houself, and the kitchens are right next to his dorm! I mean, and this is not an insult, it’s the truth; who else could it be? He’s the one you shagged in the Prefect’s bathroom.”

“Nancy,” Billy hissed. He glanced over his shoulder, out of habit, but no one was listening anyway. “We didn’t shag.”

“Tomato tomahto. It makes the most sense. You’re just being stubborn. Barb agrees with me.”

“Of course she does,” Billy grumbled.

“Jonathan does too.”

Billy rounded on him. Jonathan, at least, looked guilty. He slid down in his seat, face turning red, and slowly sipped his Pop.

“Thanks, Nance,” he mumbled.

Nancy gave him an apologetic smile before turning back to Billy.

“Billy,” she said softly. “You think you’re not worth it. You think there’s no way someone would be so interested in you. You need to get out of that headspace and think logically.”

Billy stared at a scorch mark on the dingy table. His drink fizzled in his hand but he hadn’t taken a sip since Nancy spoke.

“Come on,” Nancy murmured. She leaned forward and nudged his elbow with the back of her hand, a small smile on her face. “Use that big fat head of yours. I know you won’t listen but I’ll tell you anyway: you are very worth it.”

Jonathan, sitting up a bit so his shirt collar was no longer level with his ears, gave  Billy a gentle pat on the shoulder. “She’s right.”

Billy leaned back and crossed his arms. He pretended to glare at the cobwebbed ceiling, but it was mostly an excuse to look away from Nancy and Jonathan and to try and force the tears that threatened to fall back into his eye sockets. He huffed a sigh for dramatic effect.

“I hate it when you do that,” he said. He glanced over at Jonathan. “I hate it when she does that.”

Nancy grinned. “Yeah, but it works doesn’t it?”

Billy shook his head, but a smile spread across his face anyway. “You’re too sneaky for your own good. It’s a wonder you weren’t put in Slytherin.”

“Almost was!” Nancy said brightly.

A sudden flash of light made them all jump, Billy spilling fizzing figgy stuff all down his front. A luminous, slightly transparent, Border Collie bound through the air excitedly, doing a lap around the pub and stopping to sniff at the Wolfhound who tilted its head in confusion. The patronus skidded to a stop in front of the ministry man, wagging its tail. The man ran a hand over his face wearily.

“Shit,” Jonathan whispered hoarsely, and in a flurry disappeared under the table.

“Jonathan?” Nancy asked in concern.

There was a “shhh!” from their feet and Nancy looked up at Billy, her brow furrowing.

“Yes?” the ministry man asked, a little annoyed, when the patronus seemed to forget what it was sent for and started chasing its tail.

“Hop!” The dog stopped and pranced in excitement.

“Don’t call me that. What is it?”

“We need you back at H.Q. There’s an old lady claiming she’s seen You Know Who’s ghost. We’re pretty sure it was just the mime who hangs out by the phone booth but she’s in a tizzy.”

“Got it.” The ministry man, Don’t-Call-Me-Hop, frowned at the dog, which was starting to fade now it’s mission was over. “You know I have no idea which one you are. One of you ought to have a midlife crisis and change your patronus because I can’t bloody well keep up.”

The dog opened its mouth to retort, but its time was up and it dissipated into the air.

“Duty calls,” Don’t-Call-Me-Hop said. He downed the rest of his pint, tossed his coins on the bar, gave a friendly wave to Abe, and left, cloak swirling behind him. The rusty bell tinkled on his way out and Billy turned in just in time to see him Disapparate.

Jonathan poked his head up from under the table, peering out cautiously.

“He’s gone?”

“Yeah,” Billy said. “The hell was that about?”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said quietly, smiling sheepishly. “Mum knows him. Wanted to avoid the whole underage drinking conversation.”

 

That afternoon, the last day of the Sweets Week, as he’d name it later, and the day of the chocolate tart, Billy met up with Max in the library, who’d agreed to help him study for his History of Magic exam in exchange for his Sir Isaac Newton Chocolate Frog card.

Billy told Max that Nancy was busy, and so was Jonathan, and so was Barb, but truth be told he sort of missed hanging out with his step sister, since they were both off with their friends at school, and at home Billy walked around on eggshells, hiding out in his room or escaping out the front door, and the moments when his father wasn’t home to yell at him were few and far between.

“Alright,” Max said, at a table in a far corner of the library, hidden from Madam Pince where they could slowly work through the final slices of the chocolate tart undetected. She skimmed through Billy’s notes. “Juba II of Namibia-”

“Numidia,” Billy corrected through a mouthful of chocolate.

“Whatever. He was king of what country, appointed by which emperor, and discovered what magical herb and/or fungi?”

“Mauretania. Augustus, or Octavian if you prefer. And,” Billy swallowed thickly. “Technically, Juba’s physician, Euphorbus, actually discovered the spurge, and Juba named it after him. But _Euphorbia_ now describes and entire genus of succulent, a Christmas poinsettia even fits into the category. The specific magical fungi you’re referring to is called _Seleneas_ , which Euphorbus found under Juba’s patronage. It’s a type of Leaping Toadstool native to the Canary Islands that can only be harvested under a waxing crescent moon. It’s used in several potions for anxiety relief, and can be found in some sleeping draughts. Stewed by itself, it relaxes your muscles and tastes great with a Chamomile tea. I’m paraphrasing but you get the gist.”

“Just ‘ _Seleneas_ ’ would’ve been fine, but yeah.”

Max caught the crumpled parchment he threw at her and tossed it over her shoulder.

“Sometimes I forget how good your reflexes are,” Billy grumbled.

“I’m fast.” Max stole the last bit of tart and popped it into her mouth. “And you shouldn’t forget. We play on the same Quidditch team.”

“You’re not forgettable, despite how hard I try.” Billy sighed dramatically.

“Shut it, knobhead,” Max said easily. She scanned the notes for a moment longer, then cleared her throat.

“Elfie the Unsightly set fire to what Scottish monument in 1897?”

“That would be -” Billy stopped suddenly, cutting himself short. A familiar voice drifted into the library.

“Fuck all,” he hissed.

“Nope, try again.”

“Max,” Billy whispered urgently, already gathering up his things. “Listen, I’ve got to go.”

Max looked at him quizzically. “What’s up?”

“Just avoiding someone. Hey, can we do this later? Tonight, in the common room?” He stood, clutching his book bag tightly.

“Sure, but -”

“Oh.”

Steve had found them, stopping dead in his tracks, a Hufflepuff Chaser beside him whose name Billy never cared to learn. Steve’s eyes went first to Billy, who glowered, to Max, who glanced between the pair of them and frowned slightly, to the empty chocolate tart tin that still sat in the middle of the table. His eyes went very wide at that.

Billy’s heart already felt as if it were clawing its way up his throat. He decided to make run for it.

“See you later, Max,” he mumbled, and darted, knocking into Steve’s shoulder potentially on purpose and skirting around Madam Pince and out the door.

Steve, of course, caught up with him halfway down the corridor.

“Wait!” he panted, sprinting forward. He cut in front of Billy.

Billy stopped and glared. At the stone floor, at the walls, the ceiling, the first years scurrying passed, at anything and everything apart from Steve.

“Get out of my way, Harrington,” he snarled.

“Hold on just a _second_ , please!”

Billy growled and threw his bag down. Anger and something far worse, humiliation, were making his face heat up, sticking fast to his blood cells and pounding through his veins.

He plunged his left hand into his robe pocket, pulling out his wand and pointing it right at Steve’s nose.

Steve went cross-eyed. He held up his hands and took a step back. “Hey-”

“Leave me alone,” Billy said, voice low and dangerous, the one he’d learned at a very young age. “Or I’ll turn you into Swiss cheese.”

“I - what?”

Billy closed his eyes for a second, lowered his wand a fraction. The insult had made much more sense in his head; he meant he would curse holes into all of Steve’s stupid fucking freckles until he resembles a block of Switzerland’s finest. It was an empty threat, but all the same.

“Never mind. Just get out of my way.”

“Ok,” Steve said earnestly. “Ok. Just, let me say one thing.”

Billy didn’t back down so Steve, giving the wand a wary look, took the tiniest step forward, hands still up in surrender.

“Please?”

His eyes were too brown, and his bottom lip stuck out in a pout, and everything about him was far too sincere. He wore his heart on his sleeves, even when Billy had a wand aimed at his face. Billy deflated in Steve’s presence, shoulders slumping, letting out a long weary sigh, and left arm lowering until it hung at his side, wand slack in his hand.

“Fine.”

“Ok.” Steve took a breath, ran his fingers through his hair anxiously.

“Look,” he said, and it sounded strained, as if it were a speech he’d practiced several times over, but when it came to the moment memory failed him and words ran away like a spooked alley cat.

“Listen,” he tried again, and took a deeper breath. “I’m sorry about the gifts. Maybe they were too much. But you wouldn’t talk to me and I know I did something wrong, I just couldn’t figure out what. So, so I thought the sweets would somehow make up for it. And, it sounds stupid, now.”

Billy took a long time to find his voice.

“So you felt sorry for me?”

“No, no!” Steve shook his head earnestly. “I don’t feel sorry for you, I mean it. I don’t want to upset you, and I knew I did somehow, and I felt like an ass. And I don’t want to avoid you, and sit across a room from you, and fucking pine after you like a lovesick puppy.”

Billy stared at him. “A what?”

Steve looked away. “I just - I feel stupid. I fucked this up on the first go, and, Merlin, I didn’t know how much I’d want a second chance. Just, tell me what I did wrong so I can try and fix it. Or tell me you want me to leave you alone, and I will. I swear.”

“Oh.” Billy tried to stop the onslaught of emotion that was hitting him like a freight train, and the chorus of “Billy Hargrove, you fucking dunderhead” that was richoteding off the inside of his skull.

“I -” He stopped to catch his breath. “I thought you, um, _regretted_ it. That you didn’t want to be seen with me.”

His voice got smaller and smaller as he spoke, and he felt like he was getting smaller and smaller, or else the room getting larger and larger, and that he were a tiny, pathetic little wizard smack in the middle of the Wizengamot, on trial for being a goddamn toerag.

Steve stared at him incredulously. “Why would I not want to be seen with you?”

“Well.” A million thoughts raced through Billy’s head, clamoring to come out first, all in his father’s oily voice, which had somewhere along the way nestled deep into his brain. And then there was _that_ thing.

Billy decided to filter out all the particularly nasty stuff and, taking Nancy’s advice, went with the most logical answer. “Because you, I dunno, you seemed embarrassed. After we left. And saw Barb and Prasad.”

“That’s not it,” Steve said quickly. “I was overwhelmed, I guess. Not because of you! Just, see, it was such a great night, until we left. Everything seemed possible all at once, and I didn’t know how you felt about it, and if you wanted anything to do with me after. I was just nervous.”

Steve looked frazzled; his hair, which was usually quite springy and full of life, had started to wilt slightly, like a flower spent too long in the shade. He was wringing his hands together and a tiny trickle of sweat beaded at his forehead. Billy’s eyes were as sharp as his nose but he still couldn’t seem to find a part of Steve to focus on; he hyper fixated, taking all of him in all at once, because the fact that Steve could look so lost and self-conscious was something Billy wanted to remember.

“I thought,” Steve said weakly. “You were embarrassed by me. Or that maybe I’d gone too far.”

“No,” Billy said sharply. “You didn’t. I just, fuck, I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, looked hesitant. “Well, then, do you want to?”

Billy threw up his hands. “Merlin’s pants, of course I do.”

“Ok then,” Steve sighed. He stepped forward, toe to toe he was a tad taller, and took Billy’s chin in his hand, lifting his face up until their eyes met.

“So it’s alright if I kiss you?”

“Yeah, give it a whirl.”

Steve smiled, just a slight quirk of his lips, and closed the distance between them, kissing him with the utmost care, not even noticing the handful of students passing by.

Billy wasn’t sure exactly what they’d agreed to be. But, fuck it, he didn’t care.


End file.
